My Hero
by Bitcrusher
Summary: Sam "Scoots" Louis is an eight year old kid with no family, no home and only two friends to rely on. All Sam wants in the world is a big brother. Actually, any family at all would be nice. Maybe there's a slim chance his wish could be granted, with the help of his lifelong idol, James "The Dash" Peterson, a famous teenage athlete... who happens to have no family of his own either.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One

James Peterson clutched the handlebar grips tightly as he sped down the dirt road. The wind whipped at his face as objects around him rushed past in a blur, adrenaline running through his veins.

He came to a hill in the road, which meant he was nearly home. Changing gears, he began to pedal with more effort. The bike climbed the hill at a steady pace, anticipation building inside him.

He reached the top of the hill. James looked down to find a steep drop awaiting him. He smiled and narrowed his eyes in pure epic determination. He immediately shot down the hill at full velocity, like a bullet. The thrill of speed sent a chill through him. There was nothing quite like it: the deafening wind, the strange difference in gravity, the speechless expressions of others as he rode past.

He thought back to an hour ago, when he was putting on a stunt show in Portland. He remembered the astonished faces of the audience as he raced and jumped and soared across that big, hilly dirt track as cheers and applause filled the stadium. James remembered their rhythmic chanting. "Dash! Dash! Dash!"

"Good show, kid," his manager had told him after the performance in the manager's office. "I don't think I've ever seen anyone with the talent you have on a bicycle. It's pretty remarkable. You're a prodigy, son."

Son.

James mentally shook off that last word, like it was a pesky insect. "Thanks, Mister Vance," he had replied.

"I mean it, kid. Not many people can ride a BMX like it's a darn motorcycle." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a wad of cash, bound by a rubber band. "Here's your pay. See ya next week, Dash." Vance handed the cash to James. James exited the man's office, pulled out his wallet and stored the money inside, and returned the wallet to his back pocket. He proceeded towards the private stadium garage, where he stored his real treasure: his bike.

"It sure pays to be this awesome, "James thought with a grin.

James halted as he reached the doors ending the hallway. Beyond was the public area of the stadium, where he knew the audience would be waiting for him eagerly with autograph books and t-shirts at the ready. The crowd was loud but muffled behind the metal double-doors. The public area connected where he was to the garage.

Aw, shoot. It looks like I'm trapped by an army of adoring fans, James monologued in his head with sarcasm. Whatever will I do now?

He put on his most charming smile and pushed open the doors.

The sudden cheering engulfed him.

There were so many voices going on at once that the crowd sounded artificial, like in a movie. Still, James had trained his ears to pick out different sounds for situations like these. Meanwhile, members of the crowd ambushed him with scraps of paper and pens, desperate for a signature.

"Dash! Over here!"

"Hey Dash!"

"Look, mom! There he is!"

James "The Dash" Peterson was as much a whirlwind of activity in a crowd of fans as he was on a bike. His personal record was fifty-five signatures in one minute. Today he beat that record in an average of one signature per second.

He glanced back at his bodyguard, Daniel, who stood guard near the door. Always nearby, never interfering, as per James' personal request. He hadn't even wanted a bodyguard in the first place, telling his manager he was perfectly capable of taking care of himself. Still, Mr. Vance insisted that he wouldn't risk the safety of his client (which seemed ironic due to James' line of work), and James agreed, with the condition that Daniel wouldn't interfere with his fans unless it was an emergency. In exchange, Daniel was to stay close to James at all times (with the obvious exceptions).

James had managed to sign his way through the crowd, eventually reaching the garage within ten minutes, with Daniel close behind as always. With a few concluding waves and handshakes, he retreated into the garage and shut the door as Daniel guarded outside.

"Jeez, it's dark. Where are the lights?"

He found the light switch and flipped it on. The lights above flickered on. The room was fairly big, about the size of a typical garage. The final bulb to flicker awake was the spotlight, which revealed his bike, bathing it in glorious illumination.

"There you are, gorgeous."

James' bike was a beautiful cyan blue BMX bike, with streaks of a rainbow of colors on a couple areas of the frame. It was custom-made just for him, with a seat, shifting and design that best suited his needs. Then there was his signature emblem pasted onto the down tube, near the gears: a storm cloud with a lightning bolt striking downward.

He had named the bike Dash, after his own alias.

Dash was remarkably clean - spotless, even - considering the amount of dirt he had caked it with during his performance. "That cleaning crew sure can clean up a mess," James mumbled in slight surprise. James had had this bike for as long as he could remember, only becoming large enough to ride it just five years ago. He had improved it at any chance he got. The frame was probably the only part he hadn't replaced at some point.

James walked to the opposite end of the garage and pressed a small button on the wall. The large garage door began to open noisily. As it finally screeched open he seated himself atop his bike and prepared for departure.

Just before setting off, Daniel poked his head in the door behind him. "You takin' off, Dash?"

James turned his head. "Yeah. Thanks for your help, Daniel."

"Hey, no problem. Just doin' my job."

James nodded and sailed off. Daniel did the favor of shutting the garage door behind him as James mentally mapped out a way home.

Luckily, he knew a back road that not many people knew about that would take him straight home without being spotted. It would take him about an hour, but James didn't mind. He rejoiced any moment he got to ride Dash without a bunch of people to impress, just alone with his thoughts.

The trip ended up taking an hour and a half. "Still nothing to complain about," he thought now, as he raced down the hill that guided him home.

Finally James reached the little abandoned house in the middle of nowhere that he called home since he was thirteen. He stored Dash in the little shed next to the homestead and went inside as the setting sun cast an orange glow on the landscape around him.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Rain.

Sam Louis thought about it as he walked home, the rain beating against him, soaking his clothes.

Well, actually, "home" is a strong word.

Sam walked through the sidewalks of downtown, heading for what he called home. A car sped past on the street beside him, spraying water from a puddle in the curb in his direction. It didn't matter anyway, he was already soaked from the typical Oregon rain.

Eventually he reached the small park that led into a deep forest. Sam turned around for a moment, peering behind him to make sure no one was following, then turned back and continued forward, into the forest. He wandered through the trees for about a quarter of a mile, until he found a large tree with a surprisingly elaborate tree house built on top. Sam let out a small half-smile and climbed the little wood-plank stairs that spiraled around the tree. Reaching the top, he swung open the little door and ducked inside.

The tree house's interior was quite simple, but surprisingly well-made and sturdy. There were two windows on either wall adjacent to the wall with the door, with a solar-powered lantern resting on each window sill, charging for the night. The back wall was bare wood with a large blue storage bin in front of it, and in the corner of the back and left walls rested a bare mattress and pillow. The corner opposite sat an ice box with a manual can opener resting on the lid. Setting his backpack and jacket near a window to dry, he flopped on the mattress in the corner and stared up at the ceiling.

Most evenings for Sam were similar to this. After a hard day of work and learning at Libman Elementary, eight-year-old Sam would gather his belongings and head to his treehouse, occasionally after hanging out with his two best friends, Billy and Cameron. Both were the same age as him and went to the same school. Billy, who grew up in Southern Alabama, spoke with a southern accent and had a love for farming and apples. He lived the country life outside of school with his older sister Jackie, brother Mac and their grandmother. Cameron, who lived on the other side of the spectrum with his fashionista sister, Tabitha, and no parents, was the only boy in school to know the difference between cashmere and polyester. Out of the three, Sam admitted, Cameron was the most creative, Billy was the most logical and reasonable, and Sam was just... Sam. He didn't mind this, however. He was just glad to have friends that stuck by him.

Unfortunately for Sam on this rainy day, Billy and Cameron were busy, so Sam had headed straight home.

Then, as if on cue, there was a knock at the door of the tree house. Sam turned his head to face the door, still laying on his back.

"Come in!" Sam called.

Sure enough, Billy and Cameron popped their heads through the half-open doorway. "Howdy, Scoots." Billy greeted. "How's it goin'?"

"Pretty good. Come on in, guys."

Billy and Cameron walked inside, closing the door behind them. Cameron spoke next. "Hey, speaking of 'scoots', where is your scooter, anyway?"

Sam half-smiled as he sat up on the bed. His scooter was his most valuable possession. "It's around back, behind the tree. I was gonna clean it later 'cause it's getting sort of rusty."

"I didn't see it when we came here," Cameron said, and asked Billy if he had, to which Billy shook his head.

"It's hidden in a bush so no one'll try to steal it," Sam explained.

"Ah, I see. Smart move," Cameron replied contently.

The three of them spent the rest of the gray afternoon in the tree house, having serious conversations that varied from weekend plans to Would-You-Rathers, with the occasional game of I-Spy every now and then. This went on until it began getting darker outside and Sam's guests prepared to depart for their homes.

As Billy and Cameron headed out the door, saying their goodbyes, Billy noticed an ever-so-faint twitch in Sam's expression. His faux happiness was cracking and his smile faded. Billy took a few steps back, closed the door carefully and kneeled next to Sam.

"Have they found out you live here yet?" Billy asked softly.

Sam looked at the floor, a sorrowful look on his face. "No… but what if they do? I can't go back to that orphanage, Billy." Sam looked him in the eyes. "I can't-" his voice cracked. He was crying now, there was nothing he could do to stop it. He looked down at the floor.

Billy placed his hand on Sam's shoulder, hoping to console him. He had never seen Sam cry before. "Hey, chin up. As long as you- as we lay low, nobody's takin' anybody anywhere, y'hear?"

Blinking away tears, Sam looked back at his friend and nodded. "Right. Sorry, Billy. I'm just scared, that's all. Thanks."

"Any time, partner," Billy replied, making Sam smile at the cowboyish response. "I'd better head home. Jackie's gonna have a fit and make me do her chores tomorrow if I miss supper."

"See ya."

Billy left and Sam was alone once again. He resumed his previous position on the mattress, staring up at the ceiling.

Suddenly he remembered something he found earlier on the way to school. Getting up, he walked over to the window, unzipped his backpack and pulled out a small, battery-powered radio. He then traveled across the room to the blue bin against the back wall and fished out two Double-A batteries, inserting them in the slot in back of the radio. Sam turned a little knob on top and the radio powered to life, but there was only static. Turning on the lanterns near the windows so he could see better, Sam turned the knob on the front in either direction, scanning for a clear signal. Eventually the static faded and a man's voice replaced it.

"-quite a show in Portland today, as teenage BMX superstar known simply as 'The Dash', showed off several new tricks and may have even set a state record for most air tricks in a single jump. The crowd was pleased as always, and eager to get the young man's autograph and picture before he disappeared, unnoticed, as is his trademark maneuver after each performance."

Sam grinned. The Dash was his idol. Sam would give anything… except maybe his scooter… to meet Dash in person. If the rumors were true, he was a runaway, too, just like Sam. Someday Sam would be just like him: Famous, fearless, and totally awesome!

The announcer went on. "...cording to his manager and the press, Dash will be at the Salem fairgrounds for his last show in Oregon before heading to Washington this Friday, so buy your tickets now!"

Sam gasped in utter joy, beaming from ear to ear. He had to get down there, no question.

Well, actually, the question was how.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

"You want to do what?!" Cameron blurted in disbelief.

"I want to go see the Dash perform at the fair on Friday!" Sam announced excitedly as they left school, the afternoon sun shining above them.

"You do realize those shows are crazy-expensive, right? And that you have no money?"

"Well, yeah. That's why I gotta come up with some money."

"What're y'all talkin' about over here?" Billy asked, running up behind them.

Cameron turned to Billy. "Sam wants to go see the motorcycle show on Friday."

"BMX show!" Sam corrected, annoyed.

"What?! That's ludicrous, Sam! You ain't got that kinda money!" Billy said.

Cameron and Sam both froze in their tracks. "Where did you learn a word like 'ludicrous'?" Cameron asked the farm boy. "That's, like, sixth grade stuff!"

"Miss Cheer taught it to me. It means crazy," Billy answered proudly.

The three of them reached a large oak tree a couple dozen feet from the school and sat down. Billy continued to question Sam as to how he planned to pay for admission to the show.

Sam did have one advantage over Cameron and Billy. He always had a plan.

"It's quite simple, gentlemen," Sam remarked, standing up and pacing back and forth like Sherlock Holmes, hands clasped behind his back. "We have two options. We either raise enough money to afford a ticket, or…"

"Or what?" The other two asked in unison.

"We sneak in."

Cameron and Billy both had a sudden look of shock. Billy opened his mouth to speak, but couldn't think of a response.

Cameron spoke up. "That's nuts, Sam. There's gonna be guards and cameras all over the place. Nobody gets in there without paying."

"Duh," Sam retorted, then smiled. "That's why I have a plan."

Cameron and Billy looked at each other, a slightly worried expression on their faces.

"Oh, come on, guys! When have I ever been wrong?"

Cameron looked back at Sam incredulously. "Really? You want me to answer that?"

Sam shrugged. "Fair enough. But seriously, this may just work."

"Alright, Sam," said Billy. "We're listening."

Eventually the day arrived, and the three boys approached the gateway to the enormous stadium.

While Sam was enthusiastic about his plan and Billy was on board, Cameron still had his concerns.

"You're insane," he whispered to Sam.

"Completely serious."

"This will never work!"

"It totally will, trust me."

"That's what you said last time!"

"And how exactly did it not work last time?"

"The teacher saw the camera, you dolt. She called the police!"

"So? They never found us!"

"It never would have happened if you hadn't decided to investigate Miss Cheer's love life!"

"Well, what else are you supposed to do when your teacher kicks you out of the classroom for a private meeting with principal De Lancie?"

"You're supposed to stay out of it!"

Billy broke in. "Would you two stop all this fighting? Good gravy, y'all are fightin' worse than a couple of stray cats!"

There was a moment of silence.

"He started it," they both said.

Billy rolled his eyes. "Now, the two o' you best keep quiet or you'll blow our cover!"

"Billy's right," Sam decided.

Billy, disguised as a large woman in a long blonde wig, while pushing a stroller with the other two boys inside, put on his best damsel-in-distress voice to the security guard that stood by the gate, filtering people into the stands.

"Oh, exca-YUSE me, sir!" Billy cried in distress, forcing the other two to hold in their laughter at the ridiculous voice.

The tall, muscled guard turned to face the faux mother and children. Looking the three of them over with suspicion, he said, "Yes, ma'am, can I help you?"

"You most certainly can! Y'see, my husband had me go n' fetch him his favorite coat from the car, an' now that the deed is done, I'd just like to go back inside now. Thank ya very much, darlin'!" Billy proceeded past the guard as quickly as possible.

"Uh, ma'am? Do you have a stamp?" The guard asked, stepping in front of her path.

"Er, a stamp? Uh, no, I don't believe I rightly do! My sincerest apologies, sir, I promise I'll remember next-"

"I'm afraid I can't let you in without a stamp."

Billy was unsure of what to say next.

Sam coughed from under the blanket in the stroller.

The guard's attention was directed downward, towards the two supposed infants. "What adorable little ones you have here, ma'am," he said with fake sincerity. He eyed Sam closely.

Sam's pacifier had fallen out of his mouth when he coughed. He, too, had a worried look on his face.

"Uh... goo goo ga ga," Sam said, performing a terrible impersonation of a baby.

The guard shook his head in what looked to be a mixture of disappointment and amusement. "You do realize kids get in free, right?" He said to Billy.

The boys didn't hesitate in taking off their disguises. Back in their normal clothes, they rushed inside. "Thanks!" Billy said to him as they ran past him.

"Wait! Where are your parents?"

"Uh... they're inside already!" Sam called as they disappeared into the stands.

Not wanting to keep the other customers waiting any longer, the security guard simply dismissed the three of them and returned to his post.

The boys found some relatively good seats and waited for the show to begin.

After fifteen minutes, exciting music started playing and an announcer's voice boomed through the stadium.

"Greetings, BMX fans! Are you ready for an exciting show tonight?"

The audience promptly responded with cheering and shouting.

"Alright! Now, without further ado, here's the moment you've all been waiting for! Ladies and gentlemen, The Dash!"

An explosion of confetti erupted from a hole in the wall of the stadium, and out of it raced The Dash himself, on his trademark cyan BMX bike. Sam cheered loudly and nearly fell out of his seat at seeing his hero live and in person. Still, his own cheering was barely audible compared to the roar of cheering fans and blaring rock music to set the mood for Dash's performance.

_Ah, listen to that. They love me!_ James thought, grinning inside his helmet. He slowly rode towards the first hill of the track, which was about 14 feet tall.

_Alright. Let's give 'em a show_.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

James sped up the hill at a force that seemed almost motorized, reaching the peak in mere seconds, and flew off the hill, completing a 360 degree spin in midair. Bounding off a patch of loose dirt, he promptly raced towards the next jump, eliciting a loud and enthusiastic cheer from the audience.

Ahead stood a second jump, taller than the first, which overlooked a large, wide trench that seemed to serve as a halfpipe. Racing up the ramp, James shot off the edge, into the trench and began to coast up and down its sides, performing various tricks when reaching the edges, each one captivating the audience.

James continued his performance around the obstacle course of a stadium for the next half-hour, never once losing the audience's attention. The grand finale consisted of an enormous ramp that spiraled around the circumference of the stadium, the peak reaching a height of at least 30 feet, and the goal was to reach another ramp directly across from the peak on the other side of the stadium. James pedaled faster than he ever had when performing this trick, and reached the very top in seconds flat. The entire stadium lay 30 feet below him.

He jumped the ramp, aiming for the other side.

He didn't make it.

James plummeted downward in a spiraling, out-of-control motion. The audience at first saw this and was silent, then a few began to scream.

The distance between James and the ground shrunk rapidly. Twenty feet… ten feet…

James' bike came perfectly in angle with the incline of a decent-sized hill, and rolled down, unharmed. He skidded to a halt and took off his helmet, followed by another explosion of confetti from either side of him. The audience roared with cheering, whistling and applause, the finale a raging success.

He made it.

Sam was going wild with excitement watching the performance.

"That was awesome!" Sam exclaimed once the show was over, jumping out of his seat.

"Yeah, it sure was… something," Cameron said. Billy nodded in agreement.

"C'mon, guys! Let's go see if we can get an autograph!" Sam bounded down the bleacher steps, toward the doors where Dash would soon emerge. An eager crowd of like-minded people had already banded together in that area.

A couple of minutes passed as Sam stood excitedly in wait, and sure enough, the steel door swung open and out came Dash, decked out in sunglasses and a leather jacket, a pen ready in his hand.

The crowd cheered at the sight of the teenage superstar, and already people bombarded him with autograph books and cameras. A couple news reporters attempted to get a statement of some sort from him as well. All the while, Dash smoothly signed, posed, and talked away, satisfying as many fans as possible.

Eventually, Sam got to the front of the crowd. Now was his chance. "Dash! Hey, Dash! Can I get an autograph? Please?! My name's Sam, I'm your biggest f-"

"Alright, everybody, I am outta here! Thanks for coming out! See you later!" Dash yelled to the crowd and maneuvered out of the crowd, towards the garage.

"Wait! What about my autograph?!" Sam tried to yell over the crowd, but it was too late.

Sam was crushed. He was so close…

He turned around and walked back to his friends, near the front entrance. He opened his mouth to say something, but was cut off by a familiar voice.

"A-HA! There y'all are, you little lyin' rascals!" boomed Billy's sister, Jackie, who stormed up to the three of them. She spoke in the same deep southern accent Billy did.

"Uh-oh…" Cameron said quietly.

"I can't believe you lied to me, Billy! Y'all snuck off to this here show without tellin' a soul! Do you know what a fuss your granny kicked up when I found out you weren't at the treehouse like you told me?"

"I- I'm sorry, Jackie, I- I just-" Billy stammered.

"You just nothin'. You lied to me. C'mon, we're goin' home right now." Jackie pulled Billy by the arm, towards the exit.

"Uh, see ya later, Billy," Cameron said. He seemed nervous about something.

"Oh, you ain't off the hook either, partner," Jackie told Cameron. She gestured to the exit, where Cameron's own sister stood, arms crossed in a furious stance.

"Tabitha?!" Cameron blurted, frozen in place.

"Cameron!" Tabitha growled. "You had better have an absolutely wonderful explanation for lying to me."

"Well, I- uh… It's all Sam's fault! He dragged me and Billy into this! I don't even like bikes!"

"That's no excuse for telling me a lie. You are coming home with me this instant!"

"Wait! Please, let them stay!" Sam cried to each of his friends' sisters. "I had some other plans after this, like going to the mall and-"

"Are you kidding me, Sam?!" Billy shouted. "After the trouble you've already gotten us in?! No way! Besides, I'm with Cameron on this one, I think bikes are stupid anyway."

"W… what?"

"Sorry, Sam," Cameron chimed in. "We didn't wanna say anything, since it's your passion and all that, but this took things too far. Next time, if you have any sort of schemes involving bikes, cars, motorcycles, or racing vehicles of any sort, count me out."

"Me too." Billy finished.

"Well… fine! Go then! Who needs you guys, anyway? I'll find new friends who actually care about the stuff I like!" Sam stormed off in the opposite direction, with no actual destination in mind.

After stopping by an auto store to buy oil for his chain, James set off for home in the cold autumn night. The only illumination on the road was cast from the street lights above him. James sped past each one, the road around him lightening and darkening with the passing seconds. Eventually he passed the fairground stadium where he had performed earlier that day. Speeding by it, he noticed something sitting on the curb. He steered slightly closer.

It was a kid, probably around nine years old. He had his face buried in his hands.

Whatever. Probably just waiting for his parents. James continued on past the kid.

He made it a quarter of a mile before his conscience drove him back. He braked in front of the boy. "Hey, kid. You alright?" James asked. He didn't answer.

James got off the bike and unlatched his helmet, taking it off. He kneeled down beside the kid. "Hey. Are you OK?" he repeated.

The kid looked up, but didn't make eye contact. Tears were streaming down his face.

"No."

James didn't know how to respond. "Do you… want to talk about it?" he asked carefully.

"No."

"Okay…" James pondered how he could help the situation and was tempted to leave the kid alone.

_Maybe if I introduce myself?_

"My name's James. What's yours?"

The kid said nothing for a while, then spoke up.

"Sam."

"Nice to meet you, Sam." James was mildly proud of himself for at least getting the kid to talk. "Shouldn't you be at home by now? Where are your parents?"

Sam said nothing. He looked down.

"Are you waiting for a ride?"

"No."

"Do you want me to take you home?"

"I don't have a home."

Somehow, James realized in that moment that the kid reminded him of himself, and he understood what Sam was going through.

Sam looked up at James for the first time.

Something clicked.

"Wait a minute…" Sam said. "You're…"

James smiled. He knew he'd seen this kid before.

"You're the Dash!" Sam blurted excitedly. All traces of sadness seemed to melt away from Sam's face. "I'm your biggest fan! Well, I bet you hear that a lot, though!" he laughed.

James chuckled. "Yeah, you were the kid from the show earlier. You wanted an autograph and I left you hanging. Sorry about that. I have a busy schedule."

"No, it's fine! It's just so cool to meet you!" Sam was grinning from ear to ear.

At least a half hour passed as Sam told James about his life. Sam lived alone in a treehouse. His parents had died when he was six and was taken in for a short time by a friend of his and lived on their farm. Eventually Sam had decided that the farmer's life wasn't for him, and instead took refuge in a treehouse nearby, where he's lived since. He had no other place to go besides the treehouse, because he was afraid he'd get taken to some foster home somewhere far away. James understood completely. These were James' fears when he himself ran away from home two years ago.

Talking about this subject seemed to return Sam to his former depressed state. He looked down again.

"Hey. Sam."

Sam looked back up.

"Do you need a place to stay?"

He looked straight ahead and nodded. He seemed tired.

"C'mon," was all James said, and hooked his bike helmet onto Sam's head. They got on James' bike, James scooting forward to allow room for Sam to sit. "Hold on tight."

Sam held onto James, trying to stay awake, as the two rode home.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

Sam opened his eyes. He was somewhere he'd never been before. That was all he knew.

He sat up and found himself in a soft bed, a soft cloud compared to the springy mattress in his treehouse. The bed was in a room which he'd never seen before.

_Where am I?_

Sam got out of bed. The room was about the size of his treehouse, with a closet near the door and a shuttered window on the other side of the room. There was a dresser against the wall opposite the bed. Otherwise, the room was empty.

Sam went to the door and opened it, peering out into a hallway that led into a bigger room on his left, a bathroom directly in front of him, and what seemed to be another bedroom on his right. The door on the right was closed.

He walked out into the hallway and slowly moved toward the living room, still unsure of where he was. An odd scent reached his nose. It was sweet.

Pancakes.

Across from the small living room was an equally small kitchen. In front of the stove where the scent was coming from stood James, cooking away. Hearing Sam's footsteps, James turned around.

"Hey, you're awake!" James said happily. "You hungry? Pancakes are almost ready."

Sam couldn't believe his eyes. He was in the home of his hero, The Dash, who was making him breakfast? For a moment, Sam thought he had gone crazy. He grinned. "Yeah!"

James smiled. "Cool. Go hang out in the living room. I'll bring them to you when they're done."

Sam complied and sat on an old-looking couch in the room opposite the kitchen. In front of Sam stood a small TV set with a VCR player sitting on top. Next to the TV was a stack of cassette movies. Either James didn't have a lot of money, or he was a big fan of retro stuff. Eventually the food was deemed ready and moments later a plate of pancakes and warm syrup rested on Sam's lap, along with a fork. James sat down with his own plate and began to eat. Sam did the same.

"So, how'd you sleep?" James asked with his mouth half-full, breaking the silence.

"Pretty good. Really good, actually. My bed's nowhere near as comfortable."

"That's good. So... You into any sports?"

"Well, not really. I ride my scooter a lot, but that's pretty much it."

"Oh, cool, you have a scooter! Ever ridden a bike before?" James said, happy to find something else in common with his temporary housemate, but regretted asking it afterward. Of course Sam's ridden a bike before. What eight-year-old doesn't know how to ride a bike?

"Actually, no. I don't know how to ride a bike," Sam said.

_Oh._

"Ah, I see. Hey, don't worry. I'll teach you if you want." James wanted to make this kid happy, no matter what. He had been in Sam's shoes before. Sort of.

"Really?! _You'd_ teach me? Yeah, that'd be so _cool!" _Sam was thrilled.

"Sure. How good are you on your scooter?" James inquired.

"Good enough to be nicknamed for it, I guess." Sam laughed. "I have a ton of nicknames because of that scooter."

"Mm." James had finished his last bite. "Like what?"

"Well, my name's Sam Louis. Most people call me Sam, my friends sometimes call me Scoots, and I've been called Scoots Louis, Scoots Lou, Scootaloo... But you can call me whatever." Sam smiled coolly.

"Scoots it is. I like that one. Though, the last one was pretty catchy, too."

Sam grinned. "Awesome!"

By now both boys had finished eating and deposited the dirty plates in the kitchen sink. "Now what?" Sam asked.

"I gotta go clean my bike. Got a show to go to in Washington tomorrow and I need her in her best shape." He thought for a moment. "That reminds me, what are we gonna do about you?"

"Maybe you could take me with you!" Sam suggested eagerly.

James frowned. "Uh... I dunno about that, Scoots. I can't just take you with me all the way to Washington. The bike's my only transportation."

Despite the use of his new nickname, Sam was disappointed. Where would he go if James left? Back to the treehouse? Back to his friends who abandoned him?

"If you want, you could stay here. It'd only be for a couple days, and then when I get back we can figure out where you can stay."

"Okay," Sam decided. He knew it was too good to be true. Why would the super-famous Dash just let Sam live with him all of a sudden? He was just being generous, and if Sam didn't find somewhere else to go soon, he'd wear out his welcome.

"Cool. Well, I'm gonna go clean. Gotta get ready for tomorrow!" James said with an excited grin, and went out the front door. Sam sat back down on the couch, thinking about what to do next.

_He'll be fine, _James thought while scrubbing his bike. _I'll be gone for a few days and the kid'll still be here when I get back._

_Where am I gonna put him when that time comes, though? He can't stay here. I have too busy of a schedule to babysit some kid for who knows how long._

_He can't go back to that treehouse, though. It's not safe for him there. I know Sam doesn't want to go to foster care, but that's his safest bet, whether he likes it or-_

For a moment, James remembered when he ran away from home so many years ago. His abusive father and passive mother provided nothing for him and wanted nothing to do with him. He had decided that his only option was to leave. He took his bike, a simple, beaten-up old thing at the time, and rode away, as fast and far as he could, until he reached a small house in the middle of nowhere that nobody lived in and the city forgot to turn off the water and electricity for. James had made himself at home and began to make a living as a bike stuntman, using the alias Dash in case anyone went looking for him. His skills improved and eventually he became a superstar. He had gotten lucky.

James had a feeling that Sam wouldn't have the same luck on his own.

But what was he to do? Keep Sam around? Leave him at home for week-long shows and tournaments, never knowing if Sam was safe back home? The stress of that thought alone would throw him off his game, maybe cause a disaster on the track, and a bigger disaster to his career.

Wait. Why did he care so much? It's not like Sam was family or anything. Just some kid on the streets he felt sorry for. He'd find a place for the kid to go. James was better off alone anyway.

An hour passed and Dash was spotless, so James went back inside after returning his bike and cleaning tools to the shed. Opening the door, he noticed the house was quiet. Too quiet. A terrible thought occurred to James. What if that kid was just a con artist? What if Sam was sneaking around James' house, stealing or breaking or vandalizing his stuff, fueled by either obsession or jealousy? Kids are unpredictable and vicious, and James just picked up some random homeless kid off the street! What if he was-

-sleeping on the couch?

Sam was lying down on the couch, fast asleep. A soft, rhythmic breathing came from him, audible over the silence of the house.

_Huh. Imagine that. In the house of his idol, and the kid didn't do a single thing wrong. Maybe kids aren't so bad... Maybe this kid, at least._

James actually laughed at the thought that this poor kid, after James' generosity, would do anything bad in return. He felt a little ashamed of himself.

_Well, I don't need to leave until tomorrow, anyway. Let's teach this kid how to ride a bike._


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

"Wait, what are we doing again?" Sam asked groggily, after waking up from his nap.

"I'm gonna teach you to ride a bike before I leave tomorrow," James replied.

"Awesome! But I don't have a bike."

"I do," James said with a smirk.

Sam's eyes widened. "You'd let me... use Dash?"

"Sure, why not?" James decided with a smile.

Filled with glee and excitement, Sam eagerly listened and did everything he was told as James taught him how to ride a bike.

"Alright, Scoots, that was pretty good. Think you can try it without me holding on this time?"

"Nope," Sam laughed.

"Alright, one more time." James held onto Sam as Sam pedaled faster and faster down the road in front of James' house. He wobbled a bit but James held him steady.

Of course, James planned to use the classic move of letting go when Sam gained enough speed. When he was at the point of running behind Sam, he secretly let go and Sam continued to coast further down the road. Sam turned his head and noticed James was no longer holding him.

Sam fell over, skidding a foot away from where he impacted.

James winced at the gruesome crash, then ran to the scene. "Sam! You alright, kid?"

Sam stirred. He sat up.

"That. Was. _Awesome!_ Let's do that again!" He said giddily.

The two of them burst out laughing. James was glad Sam wasn't seriously hurt, but he did notice a few scrapes on both Sam and his bike. Normally he would be furious that his bike had taken such abrasive damage, but for some odd reason... he didn't care. He was just happy to see that Sam was OK.

A couple of bandages were applied and Sam got right back on James' bike. He practiced for hours until he finally learned to ride without falling off, James watching and cheering him on the entire time. When the sun began to set, the two of them put the bike away and went inside.

"Hey, shouldn't we clean your bike again?" Sam asked. "You gotta leave tomorrow, don't you?"

_Oh yeah. I forgot about the show in Washington tomorrow._

"Nah, that's alright. Let's eat dinner. I'll give her a quick scrub-down tomorrow morning."

Afterwards James prepared a meal of TV dinners and sat down on the couch with Sam. They put one of James' thirteen cassette movies in the VCR to watch while they ate, which made Sam curious.

"Hey, James? Where did you get all these movies? They look really old."

James chuckled. "Yeah, some of these tapes are older than you or I have been around. You see, I'm sort of like you, in a way. I ran away from home when I was fourteen..."

James told Sam about how he ran away and how he got his start as a professional BMX racer and stuntman.

"...when I just started out on my own, I had no way of making money to support myself, so I took refuge in this little house here, and..." James sighed in shame. "I began to steal. It started out with food and basic necessities for living, then it grew to things that I didn't really need, like these movies. Or some of my furniture and appliances. Eventually when I started to make money from the bike shows, I was able to start honestly buying what I wanted, like this TV and this couch."

Sam listened intently. He had never stolen before, his heart wasn't in it, but was almost driven to it at many points.

"I had a pretty good collection of old movies by then," James went on, "so I started to buy more. I'm up to thirteen now. I got them pretty cheap from a used video store, so cheap, in fact, that I was able to pay (anonymously, of course) for the movies I stole back then. It just goes to show you, kid..." James put his hand on Sam's shoulder. "Stealing is not only wrong, but it makes you feel like a real crappy person. Don't do it unless you have to, and I mean _really _have to."

"Why didn't you go back home?"

"Anything was better than that place. Anything. Your treehouse is a dream estate compared to that hole."

Sam was sorry he asked, but was a little glad to know James had a slightly similar past to his own. James' parents weren't dead, but they were dead to him and he was dead to them.

They both finished their dinners and continued to watch the movie James had put on, which happened to be Aladdin. James had seen it over a dozen times, but this was Sam's first time watching it. It was dark outside at this point and the window let in a cold draft, so Sam subconsciously moved closer to James for warmth. Time passed and Sam began to grow sleepy. Before James knew it, Sam had fallen asleep, resting against him.

James smiled to himself. It was kind of nice to have someone around to spend time with. He had been able to open up to Sam the same way Sam did to him, and somehow was even able to trust Sam with his bike, his pride and joy, the key to his success. Sure, it got scraped up in the process, but it was nothing James couldn't fix.

He never realized before now how badly he needed company.

Sam was more than a temporary housemate now. He was a permanent one.

"Welcome home, Scoots," James said quietly.

He carried Sam to the extra bedroom and carefully laid him down on the bed, pulling the covers over him, as he had done the night before.

The next morning, James cleaned up his bike once more and made a quick trip out to the store to pick up a few days' worth of food for Sam. He returned to find Sam awake and sitting on the porch. They went inside, had breakfast, and James explained the rules that Sam would need to follow while he was gone: get to school on time (luckily Sam's school was in walking distance from James' house), don't skip a meal, don't break anything, and for the love of God, stay safe.

"One other thing," James added. "If anyone finds out you're staying here, the both of us could get in a lot of trouble. You for not having a legal guardian, and me for what could be considered kidnapping. So until we can think of a way for you to legally stay here, keep this on the down-low. Okay?"

"No problem," Sam replied. Then his expression changed to one of confusion. "Wait. Stay here? I thought you said we would have to find another place for me to go."

James smiled. Now for the fun part.

"I've been doing some thinking, and I've decided to let you stay here for as long as you need."

Sam's eyes widened and his mouth opened in surprise. "You- you really mean it?"

"Absolutely, squirt." James grinned and threw up his arms. "Welcome home!"

There was no hesitation as Sam bolted towards James, embracing him in a grateful hug. "Thank you, thank you, thank you _so much!_" he exclaimed.

James returned the hug, then got up to leave. "No problem, kiddo. See you when I get back."

As he headed out the door, helmet in hand, Sam called, "Have a good show! Bye, James!"

James turned around before closing the door. He smiled again. "See you later, little bro."


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

Four days later, James returned from his show in Vancouver, Washington, to find Sam safe and sound. Sam hadn't missed any school, and he kept himself busy by watching movies and riding around the road on his scooter, which he apparently retrieved from his treehouse in the days that James was gone. He was a surprisingly well-behaved kid for someone who lived on his own for so long, as well as for how old he was. Thank goodness for the public school system.

James' show had also gone well, no different from any of the other shows he had performed in the past, save for a minor mishap with the confetti cannons. Nothing bad or dangerous, the cannons simply weren't plugged in. The show was a success nonetheless.

Now that James was finished with his west-coast tour and his next show wasn't for a few months, he could devote his time to what really mattered: his new little brother.

Sometime around noon the next day James found Sam riding around on his scooter. Sam noticed him several meters away and stopped. "Hey, James! Check out my scooter! Isn't it cool?"

James had never seen Sam's scooter before now. It was a typical blue Razor scooter, covered in spots of rust. One of the foam handles were missing and the other was halfway there.

"Heh, yeah," James replied, "but... I think we can make it cooler."

"Really? How?" Sam rolled up to the front of the house, his scooter squeaking all the way.

"All it needs is a little tune-up," James said with a grin.

That afternoon, the two of them worked on the scooter, fixing the wheels, putting on a new handle grip from one of James' spares, and applying some anti-rust formula to the frame.

"There. What do you think?" James asked.

Sam gazed suspiciously upon his new-and-improved scooter. "I'll have to test it."

"Alright," James laughed. Sam's attitude reminded him of himself when it came to improving his bike.

Sam got on the scooter and pushed off with one foot, sailing smoothly across the road. No squeaks, no rattles, nothing.

"You're right. It's, like, thirty percent cooler," Sam said contently upon returning to the porch.

"Told ya," James replied with a smirk.

A screw fell out of the back wheel and onto the ground.

The two of them glanced at it, then back at each other.

Sam frowned. "Make that twenty percent."

He attempted to keep a straight face, but failed as the two of them burst into laughter, which lasted a good while. James fixed Sam's scooter, having Sam test it once more to be sure, and the two went inside as the sun began to set.

A few months passed, and before either of them knew it, it was December. In the passing months James had obtained emancipation, which allowed him to legally live on his own. He had gone to the local courthouse and filled out the necessary paperwork, and in the following week James had to meet with his parents one more time. He half-expected them to be angry with him for running away, but they were indifferent. At least, his mother was. His father had apparently left her soon after James ran away, and she moved on from his father as easily as she had apparently done with him. Therefore, she had had no problem dismissing her son to do as he pleased, and signed the form. He was free now.

Today was December 24th. Christmas Eve. And it was time for Sam's present.

"Hey, Sam?" James called from the living room. "Can you come here for a second?"

Sam closed his sketchpad, which James had kindly bought him as an early Christmas present, and headed out of his room to the living room.

_Oh, yeah, _he thought. _My room. Gosh, that still feels so cool to say. My own room._

He happily entered the living room with this thought on his mind, until he saw James' serious expression as he sat on the couch waiting for Sam.

_Am I in trouble?_

Sam sat down next to James, not smiling, but still wearing a curious expression. James began to speak after taking a deep breath.

"So, I've been thinking, and I think now is the right time to give you your Christmas present."

Sam raised an eyebrow, confused. "I thought the sketchpad was my present."

"Well, it was, but it's not the _big one."_ James said, a devilish grin growing on his face.

"What do you mean?" Sam asked, suddenly excited.

"Tomorrow, we- oh, right. they'll be closed on Christmas. Uh, two days from now, you and I are gonna make a little trip down to the courthouse."

"What for? Weren't you just there a few days ago?"

James chuckled. "Yeah, but this time, it's for you."

Sam wore a blank expression.

"We're gonna fill out some paperwork (Sam groaned at the horribly boring word), and, well…" James took another deep breath. "I'm going to adopt you."

"W- what?" The words had not fully registered in Sam's mind.

"Two days from today, you will legally be my adopted brother. No more hiding, no more sleeping in tree houses, no chance that you'll ever have to find another place to go."

_No more being alone…_

"You mean…" Sam said slowly, "we'll be _real _brothers? Forever?"

"Forever, Scoots. You and me, together forever."

James expected Sam to tackle him in a hug. Instead, he did the opposite.

Sam started to cry.

"Sam? What's wrong, buddy?"

Sam sniffed, tears rolling down his cheeks. "Th… thank you, James. Thank you so-" Sam sniffed again and didn't bother finishing the sentence. He collapsed into James, hugging him tightly. Tears began to well up in James' own eyes.

"You're welcome, Sam." James smiled through full-blown tears, and the two sat there for a long time, Sam resting in James' arms, face buried in his chest.

Soon, they would be real brothers. Nothing would change that. Not if James could help it.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

"Sam."

"H… whuh..."

"Hey, buddy. Wake up."

Sam half-opened his eyes. James' face came into focus.

"Mornin', Scoots," James greeted in a quiet tone. "Get dressed. Like, thickly dressed. I'll meet you outside."

He started towards Sam's bedroom door before Sam sleepily called out. "Why?"

James turned around and gave an excited grin. "Look out the window, pal." He closed the door behind him, and Sam was alone in his bed. He turned towards the window but the blinds were closed. He got up, lazily stumbled towards them, and pulled the string attached to the blinds, which promptly raised them.

The world outside his bedroom was covered in a blanket of pure white snow.

He felt his mouth open in awe, mesmerised by this beautiful sight. Never in six years had it snowed in their town, only rained or froze over, so Sam had only seen snow in pictures at school or in books, or the occasional Disney movie James provided for the two of them. Even then, it was only a cartoon. Nothing could compare to… this.

After snapping out of his daze, he rushed to put on some thick winter clothes James had gotten him in the event it did snow this year. "Man, thank goodness for clothing drives," James had remarked.

Once Sam had donned a coat, hat, and other thermal apparel, he dashed out of his room, down the hall and out the door, nine glorious inches of snow collapsing under his boots.

"Hey, sleepy-head! Glad you finally decided to show up!" James laughed from the foot of the hill. He was very far away, just in shouting distance from Sam. "Well, what are you standing there for? Come on, kid!"

Sam tried to run at that moment, but inevitably tripped over the large blanket of endless snow in front of him and fell face-first into an icy-cold patch. He could hear James laughing hysterically from the hill as Sam made an attempt at getting up, but failed miserably. He decided he was now destined to live here in this patch of snow, until it melted and he could stand once again.

Of course, this was a silly thought, as he heard a faint, rhythmic crunching grow louder and louder as James approached him, Sam's face still pressed into the white void.

"Alright, alright. Come on, squirt. It's not as hard as you think. You just gotta get-" James picked Sam up off the ground and held him under one arm, like a football. "-used to it!" he grunted.

Sam flailed around under James' arm, giggling. "Let me go! Come on, this isn't funny!"

"Yes it is! You're laughing, you little liar!" James laughed with him, and continued carrying him with one arm back to the hill.

He set Sam down at the foot of the hill. Sam regained his balance and saw that a sled sat at the top of the hill. This could mean only one thing.

"Wait a minute. Are we going sledding, James?"

"You bet we are, squirt. Let's go!"

The two of them trudged up the snow-covered hill, Sam obviously having more trouble than James, until they reached the peak.

"Holy cow, Scoots. Look at that _view!"_

The landscape of pure, unspoiled white stretched for miles upon miles. A sea of shimmering crystal in the morning sun, which just barely peeked through a dense layer of clouds above.

"Whoa…" Sam marveled.

"Pretty cool, isn't it?"

"Yeah…" Sam was mesmerised once more.

James chuckled. "Well, c'mon, kid. Get in."

Sam, still in somewhat of a daze, climbed into the canoe-shaped, plastic blue sled that lay before him. James followed suit after moving the sled into ready position.

"Ready?" James asked.

"Ready."

James grinned wickedly and pushed off with his foot. The sled began to shift towards the edge, and eventually tilt downward.

Thunk.

The sled sat perfectly still. Sam looked around, confused. "What happened?"

"I think the sled's stuck on something," James answered as he leaned forward.

A rock, previously stuck between the sled and the hill, shot outward and landed at the bottom of the hill.

"Wh-" James uttered.

The sled promptly zoomed down the large hill without warning. The two screamed loudly in a combination of fear and exhilaration, the cold winter wind in their faces, loose snow flying in either direction beside them. Their speed gained until they even surpassed James' speed on a bike.

The white wonderland around them became a blur. The ground came closer and closer to them, which gave Sam a sense of relief. He wouldn't admit it to James, but he was terrified.

James had also been hiding something from Sam. And they were just about to reach it.

The sled came across the bottom of the hill... and the secret ramp at the foot of it, buried under a thinner layer of snow, which James had placed there an hour before. The sled tilted upward and soared through the air.

James yelled in joy, hands in the air. Sam, however, heard nothing, his mind in another place. The world moved in slow motion. Sam looked around in awe as they soared through the wind, the crystal ground several feet below them.

They were flying.

Sam had never flown before. He never told James this before, but he had always wanted to fly. And here they were, only five feet in the air, yet Sam felt as high as a bird. This was the greatest feeling ever.

Sam joined James in howling with excitement as time shifted back to normal tempo.

They made contact with the ground once again and the sled, after bouncing once, came to a stop midway between the hill and James' front porch.

"That... was... so... _awesome!" _Sam exclaimed, out of breath but still carrying a wide smile.

"Glad you had fun, Scoots," James laughed, then proudly added, "I set that ramp up this morning."

"That was awesome," Sam happily repeated.

"Good, means it worked. You tired?" James asked.

"No...?" Sam answered with an inquiring tone.

"Good."

James whirled around in a circle like a flash, quickly picking up a snowball and hurling it at Sam. It hit him with a white splat.

"Hey!"

"What's wrong, kid? You act like you've never been in a snowball fight before!" James taunted.

"A what?"

James smiled. "Like this, squirt." He reached down, piled up a handful of snow, condensed it into a ball and, before Sam could react, threw the new snowball at the scraggly-haired boy.

Sam frowned, then realized it was just a game and mirrored what James had done, forming a loose snowball and chucking it at James, who stood a dozen feet away.

The snowball fell apart before reaching its intended target.

James, after a fit of laughing, came closer and showed Sam how to properly pack the snow. Sam learned quickly, and as James walked back to his previous position, he was pelted in the back by a nicely-formed snowball.

"Ah, that smarts!" James yelled, rubbing his back. "Good one, kid. But you do realize what this means, right?"

"What?"

"This means _war."_

The next half-hour was filled with yelling, projectile snow and a _lot _of laughing. By the battle's end, clothes were soaked with melted snow, and faces and ears were crimson red. Had gloves not been worn, they probably would have gotten frostbite. Finally, Sam and James headed inside, leaving the chilling landscape behind them.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

The morning had gone wonderfully. After coming inside, James had made the two of them some much-needed hot chocolate. Afterwards, James went to take a shower, leaving Sam sitting in the living room alone, sipping his hot chocolate and watching the only one of James' movies Sam hadn't seen yet: _Oliver and Company._

There was a knock at the door.

At first, Sam didn't register it, believing the sound was coming from the TV. When the knock occurred again, however, there was no mistaking it. Somebody was at the door.

James and Sam had never had a visitor before. They had talked about what to do if anyone ever did come to the door: wait for James to answer it.

But James was in the shower, and the knocking not only persisted, but grew louder each time. Sam reluctantly got up to answer it.

He opened the door. In front of Sam stood three men, each dressed in dirty-looking business suits. One, in front, was a tall, bald man with a faded scar on his cheek. The two others standing behind him consisted of a large man with a suit clearly too small for him, and a scrawny, rat-faced individual, an eerie grin on his face.

"Hey, kid," the man in front said, a deep growl in his voice.

_Yeah, right, _Sam thought as he began closing the door.

A foot blocked the door's path.

"Whoa, where's the fire, kid? We just wanna talk to The Dash. Is he home?" The man peered his head past Sam's shoulders, inspecting the house.

"H- he doesn't live here," Sam said nervously, trying to protect James' identity.

"Oh, so you live all by yourself, in this house with nobody to look after you, huh? Is that so? Doesn't sound very believable to me, does it, boys?" He turned around and the two others laughed with him.

"I'm serious."

The man with the scar looked back at Sam and gave an unsettling grin. "Well, then. It looks like we gotta make him come to us. Eh, boys?"

The three of them laughed once more. Sam, unsure of what to do and internally terrified, tried laughing with them. Maybe they were James' friends. Maybe-

"Bag him."

A thick black bag was suddenly thrown over Sam's head and the daylight disappeared. Sam screamed, but one of the men tightened something on the bag and the sound of his cries changed in reverb. Sam knew that sound was no longer leaving the sack, and before he could try anything else, he was guided harshly out of the house and into some sort of vehicle.

Tears ran down his cheeks as Sam sobbed inside the bag, scared and confused, hoping with all his might that his brother would save him.

After leaving the shower, James heard a knock. Voices. This was alarming to him, considering he wanted to keep his identity a secret for several reasons. He quickly dressed himself and went to the front room to inspect the situation, the eerie silence making the knot in his stomach tighten.

"Sam? Was somebody at the-"

The front door was wide open. Nobody was in the house.

"...door?"

Then James noticed the large black van driving away from his house.

"Oh my God… _Sam!"_

James didn't hesitate as he sprinted out of the house and to the shed, his bare feet crunching against the freezing snow. Throwing open the shed door, James grabbed his bike and jumped on, immediately speeding after the van, which was already nearing the top of the hill.

Forty-five seconds passed and James was also at the top of the hill, his bike unaffected by the snow. The van was a quarter mile ahead.

_Let's see if I live up to my name._

The Dash furiously shot down the hill like a cannon, the world bending around him, due to either speed, or the more likely option, pure anger. His eyes narrowed, keeping direct focus on the van in front of him, ignoring the freezing wind and snow like needles in his face. Nothing was more important to James Peterson than getting his brother back.

With the hill's gravity on James' side, as well as the slickness of partially-melted snow, even though dangerous, he began to catch up to the van. Keeping a steady balance to avoid sliding out, he stopped pedaling for a moment, letting momentum carry him forward. The distance between James and the van was rapidly decreasing. Thirty feet... twenty... ten...

Then the van sped up.

"What… no..." James gasped in out-of breath, desperate disbelief, until it hit him: they were toying with him. They _wanted_ him to catch up, to give him false hope, a sense of near-relief, only for these bastards to yank it from him.

Knowing he couldn't catch up with the van at its increased speed, James scanned the entire vehicle, taking a mental note of everything. It was a typical black van, with tinted windows. The license plate was either covered up or missing, for there was none to be seen. There were many rust stains on the lower half of the vehicle. Finally, his little brother was trapped inside, held hostage by unknown assailants. All of this was important information.

The next stop was the police station, or at least it was the next thought in James' mind. Then he remembered that Sam was illegally living with him, and if the police discovered that, it would create a whole new slew of problems. So that was out of the question.

The only option was to follow the van.

Darkness.

Sam sat in what he assumed was the back of a truck, a thick cloth bag tied around his head, his arms bound behind him. Pushing through his fear, and with nothing else to do, Sam Louis began to think.

_Why would they want me? This isn't fair, I didn't do anything._

_Why'd they have to take me, anyway? Why couldn't they have just taken James inst-_

Sam shook off this thought, immediately hating himself for thinking it in the first place. He replaced it with a new thought.

_I never should have answered the door…_

Sam heard voices from the front of the vehicle. Laughing. Swearing. Eventually one of them said they were "here", wherever that was. Sam was mildly relieved; anything was better than being stuck here, blinded and immobile, in the back of a van. Almost anything.

The van came to a stop, the momentum causing Sam to lurch to his right, which at least told him what direction he was facing. He heard doors open, then shut. There was a brief silence, then before Sam knew it, he was being dragged out from this prison, some sunlight now filtering in from the pores of the cloth bag. The winter breeze chilled the exposed parts of his upper body (he had left his thick coat back at home) and a bitter cold stung his feet when they crunched into the snow, as he had only socks on when these men had taken him.

Holding him by the shoulders in order to prevent any sort of escape, they walked Sam across this field of snow, eventually entering some kind of building. Sunlight no longer filtered through the bag and Sam's feet hit a more solid, dry surface: a carpeted floor.

Enough was enough. Time to get some answers.

"Where are you taking me?"

Nobody responded. Sam heard some murmuring.

"Hey! Where are you taking me?" Sam repeated, louder this time.

"Shut up. You'll find out."

After a few minutes of walking in an unknown direction, Sam heard a door open and was unexpectedly thrust forward and, unable to stop himself, tensed his muscles in fear of hitting the ground. However, he was grabbed from the front and placed back on his feet before falling, then was guided further into the room by this new assailant.

"Sit," a voice commanded.

Sam obeyed, surprised to find he had landed in a chair, rather than on the floor.

"One of you, get the bag off his head," the voice growled. "Let's see what this kid looks like."

The stuffy bag was pulled from Sam's head. An oppressive yellow light met his eyes, causing extreme discomfort as they had adjusted to the darkness of the bag. Sam squinted, letting the rest of the world come into focus.

The rest of the room was dark and industrial. Some kind of warehouse. In front of him, behind a cluttered table and the bright desk lamp emitting the harsh illumination, sat another man in a suit. His teeth were a blinding shade of white and he was somehow even better-dressed than his henchmen. He sat with his hands clasped on the table, inspecting Sam with his dark, colorless eyes top to bottom.

"Hello. You must be Sam," the man said with a sinister, threatening smile.

"How… how do you know my name?"

"We'll get to that. So, Sam... tell me about The Dash."


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

An hour passed and James was still on the road. Still no sign of Sam or the van that took him. James had entered town, desperately hoping he would spot a black van somewhere along the streets. Unfortunately, it would have seemed his luck had run out.

His brother was gone.

Furiously he shook his head, hoping to dispel the awful thought. Sam _had _to be here, somewhere, waiting for James to save the day and take him home.

All of this ran through his head as he coasted down the streets of Salem, avoiding cars and pedestrians like meaningless traffic cones, unconcerned if he happened to cross one's path. James' one and only priority was to get Sam back.

And to kick the collective asses of whoever had dared to take him.

He continued racing through the streets, praying that he would see… something. Anything. A glimmer of hope. Nothing on the streets but cars, buildings, and people going about their daily lives. He examined everything he passed on his bike. A burger joint, an insurance agency, a convenience store, another damned burger joint (the city was crawling with them), a boarded-up old warehouse, an alleyway, a coffee shop-

_Wait a minute._

_Was that…_

James' bike screeched to a stop. He whirled around and studied the warehouse deeply.

_If I were a bunch of kidnapping criminals, where would I be?_

_Oh yeah. Right in there._

Of course, this was just a theory. But it was better to go off of than nothing. He dismounted the bike, placing it on its kickstand next to the wall of the coffee shop, and walked casually toward the warehouse in hopes he wouldn't be noticed. However, when he passed the alleyway between the shop and the warehouse, he forgot all motives of stealth as he was filled with utter joy. He stood there, mouth agape, a growing smile of relief on his face.

There it was. The black van.

Was it the right one, though? James checked around the vehicle, matching it up with the one in his mind. Rust stains on the lower half, the missing license plate, the tinted windows. This was indeed the same van that had previously harbored Sam Louis.

Just to be sure Sam wasn't still in the van, James peered inside the windows, thankful the tint wasn't too dark and opaque. His brother was nowhere to be seen, so he turned around, his next mission to enter the warehouse and find Sam.

The alleyway currently contained James, the dark van, a dumpster, and a side door to the warehouse. There was also a front entrance, but that one happened to be a large steel door that slid open like a garage door would. Both doors had pros and cons, for while the front door would be incredibly noisy to enter, giving him away, there were windows next to it, which would at least give James a way to check and make sure nobody was on the other side. The alternate entrance, however, had no windows. Someone could be on the other side at that moment, keeping watch, waiting to pounce on any intruders.

James came around to the front, carefully peering through the windows, looking around occasionally in hopes that he would not be spotted.

Inside was not a warehouse, but rather a very neat, formal office, the outward appearance of the building a clever disguise to deter passersby, to create the impression that it was simply abandoned. James' view of the side door (and anyone who may have been near it) was obstructed by a series of maze-like cubicle walls. He would be taking an equal risk by using either entrance, but with the potential noise of the front door, his best option would be to take the-

"Hey! Get away from there!"

James turned to his right to see a dark-suited man running towards him.

James swore and whirled around, sprinting back towards the alley. He didn't dare look back, hearing rapid footsteps behind him.

...And, suddenly, the cocking of a gun.

James swore again.

Without any hesitation he dove back into the alleyway, quickly getting back on his feet and running to the side door. Armed only with prayers that no one was on the other side, James threw open the door and ducked inside, just as the man had rounded the corner, aiming a pistol at his head. The man fired once and missed. James grabbed the door handle and slammed it shut...

...Which, in hindsight, probably wasn't the best idea.

James turned around.

Standing around him, and on metal ledges and catwalks above, were dozens of men dressed in the same black suits, staring at James.

"Oh, _come on_…"

"So," the shadowy man asked once again, "do you have anything you'd like to tell me?"

"No." Sam declared, glaring angrily at his captor.

"You don't seem to understand, Samuel. You're just making this harder on yourself. Tell me what I want to know, and you get to leave."

"I'm not telling you anything about Ja-" Sam began, until his eyes widened and he clamped shut.

The man grinned. "What's that?"

Sam said nothing.

"Oh, come now. We were just beginning to get somewhere," he coaxed, and a shiver went down Sam's spine. "Please?"

Suddenly, a henchman burst through the door Sam had entered. "Sir. We have a problem."

The boss shot him an annoyed look. "What is it?"

"We have an intruder."

Behind the henchman, two more guards entered the room, dragging a teenage boy by the arms, the boy struggling desperately to escape their grip.

"Let me go, you bastards! Get off of me!"

Sam's eyes widened once more, this time with joy. "James!"

James' head quickly turned towards the sound. His expression changed to an ecstatic relief. "Sam! You're alright!"

The two would have ran to each other in an embrace, had they not both been restrained.

"Hm. How sweet," the boss said with a distant sarcasm.

That was when James finally saw the face of the man sitting behind a cluttered desk, the man who had given the order to kidnap his little brother.

"No… it can't be…" James breathed in disbelief.

"Hello, Dash. Or should I say… James?"

"_Mister Vance?_"

James' stage manager chuckled, and stood from his desk. He walked around the room, hands clasped behind his back.

"Not exactly, my dear boy. You see, 'Mr. Vance' was simply an alias… a stage name, if you will… to hide my identity and protect my organization. My name is Lars Vanderhoof."

James gawked at him, still restrained. "You lied about your identity?"

"Oh, don't look so surprised, James. I'm sure you understand better than anyone, after all."

"What do you want with Sam?" James demanded.

"Nothing. I was after you."

James stared at Vanderhoof with a combination of anger and confusion.

"You see, my organization was formed to acquire personal information from celebrities across the globe: bank account information, social security numbers, credit scores, PIN numbers, etcetera. Our mission was coming along swimmingly, until you came along. No credit rating, no bank account… not even a home address. To put it simply, James Peterson… you didn't exist."

"But- You were my manager!"

Vanderhoof gave James a condescendingly annoyed look. "Oh, you mean-" he briefly reverted to an energetic southern accent- "Hey, good show out there, kid! You sure got some talent on that bike o' yours!"

He returned to his dark, sophisticated English accent.

"You idiot child. Don't you understand? I was _using _you. I masked as your manager to get closer to you, and more importantly, to your paychecks. But you insisted on cash, cash every time. So I assumed you must have a secret bank account that no one knew about. However, with my newest findings, it seems the only thing you're keeping from the public is that you live alone, abandoned and penniless, with this little... friend of yours."

"He's my brother!" James shouted, struggling with all his might to break free. "If you lay a finger on him, I swear to God, I'll-"

"You'll what? It seems you're a bit... tied up at the moment." Vanderhoof chuckled.

"That would be hilarious if I was actually tied up," James remarked.

"Oh, have no fear, Mister Peterson. We can fix that."

James was promptly shoved into a chair, back-to-back with Sam, arms bound behind him.

"Now if you'll excuse me, I have pressing business matters to attend to." Vanderhoof walked towards the exit.

"Wait!" James screamed. "Why would you tell us all this?"

Vanderhoof stopped, turned around and smiled.

"What do I have to worry about? My good men here are going to take care of you."

James stopped breathing, his eyes wide with terror.

"Goodbye, James Peterson. It's been a pleasure."

Vanderhoof left the room, leaving Sam and James with three armed men.


End file.
